


Synthetic: Synthetic

by Kitty Fisher (kittyfisher)



Series: Synthetic [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Brothers, M/M, skanky hookers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyfisher/pseuds/Kitty%20Fisher
Summary: Written a long time ago. Season 1 or 2. Dean has an itch. Sam scratches...Part I of XIV





	

Synthetic I: SYNTHETIC  
Kitty Fisher

The scrape of nylon carpet against his cock is unbelievably painful, yet he still moves forward, worming inch by inch towards gleaming black leather.

“Get a move on, boy, you think I’ve got all day?”

Dean blinks sweat from his eyes and wonders when she’ll start hitting him. Carpet-burn is great, but, come on lady, is all he can think and yet he’s squirming forward, leaking pre-cum onto a flooring that already stinks of stale smoke and beer and sweat from a thousand previous occupants.

“What are you, dumb? I told you, faster!”

Hands bound at wrist and elbow, the squirming isn’t easy. And this isn’t really what he wanted, but fuck, he’s getting off on it anyway so what the hell does that matter. He’s panting when he gets there, to her boots and he knows the form, so he stays still, mouth hovering above the pointed toe even though he’s almost whimpering, wanting to beg her to use the riding crop that she’s been waving around.

“Good boy. Licky lick.”

Fuck, for all the intent in her voice she might as well be filing her nails. But he spins his own need from her lack of skill and moans as he licks. This is where he should be, this is right. He humps the carpet, hissing in pain that’s so fucking distracting that he forgets to licky lick and it’s alright because she hits him them, right on the ass, five strokes and he thinks she’s never done this before, for even with the hooker clothes and the bitch heels, she just hits. Hard. Damn, he’s glad though, because the pain is so intense that he’s whiting out, moaning, mouth wide and drooling onto the carpet. He twitches as she drags the tip back over the lines she’s marked into his flesh.

“Little cunt. You like this? Jees, so damned pathetic.”

She hits him again. Across the shoulders, the crop burning him up until he’s sobbing, curled like a child on the floor. When the beating ends, he can hear three things: his own breath, labouring in his lungs; her gum popping; and the sound of a key in the door.

“Hey, who’s that! Boy, you didn’t pay me for a three-way!” A boot-tip catches his side and he rolls over, joints creaking as his bound arms are trapped beneath him.

“My brother…” It’s just about all he can stammer through his lips, which feel swollen and alien. But Sam’s there. Sam, tall and sweet and so not going to understand this, for all his learning. “Sam.”

With a flurry of cheap latex and stomping heels, she pulls on a raincoat and grabs her bag. Breathing hard, shame like something from a cereal box, Dean watches. He can’t watch Sam, so he stares at her, seeing a pretty girl, leaving. When the door closes, he makes an effort and gets up onto his knees. The skin on his ass and back feels raw. At some point his erection has just gone - though he knows from the itchy feel of his skin that streaks of pre-cum are drying on his belly and thighs.

Sam, all the while, is watching him.

Dean swallows down the shame and straightens his shoulders, though the effect is less you got a problem with this than he hopes. He forces himself to speak. “Jees, Sam, say something?”

Sam just stands there. Dean bites his lip and feels his skin scald bright with humiliation. His brother shouldn’t be back. Shouldn’t have seen. This was his own. Something that he needed and something at least that his father had given and never been able to take back. Now, it’s nothing but awkward and he’d swear, but there’s not enough obscenity in the world to cover this.

He flinches when keys land on a table. A jacket gets tossed onto the bed and all the time Sam’s looking at him. No, looking at him and Dean wonders why his mouth is dry and his stomach is rippling with tension and most of all, why his cock is hard again, thick and stiff and almost slapping his belly as Sam, still casual, still with that expression that says nothing at all, stands right in front of him.

“You want this just for the pain, or you need to get fucked too?”

The question is delivered in the same tone as hey, you got the time, buddy? And it takes Dean a moment to work out the words, to understand them.

“I…”

A hand covers his lips. “Actually, no. I don’t think you need to talk. I think you need to kneel right there.” The hand drops away and, boots padding softly, Sam walks to the kitchenette area of the room and gets a soda from the fridge. He pops the can and sips. Dean can hear soft humming.

Sam finishes and, very slowly, crushes the can, before tossing it into the trash. “You’d think getting fucked by demons would be enough for you. But no, you wouldn’t just go with the easy path, would you? For a while now I’ve been wondering what it was that you needed, what it took to get you smoothed out. Well, guess I know it now.”

He walks back, no hurry. In front of Dean he stops and crouches down. “Tell me - you need this to be a woman? You can shake or nod your head.”

The shake is unsteady, but unmistakeable. 

“Guess its tough, finding a guy to do this in armpit towns.” Sam nods, mostly to himself. “Was she any good?”

Can you shake and nod your head all at once? She’d been crap, but he’d wanted what she did give so much. Though this is better. This was... Dean sways slightly, blood everywhere in his body but in his brain.

A hand reaches around and touches his back. He hisses, then gasps as fingertips push, deep and hard, into each weal. But Sam’s looking at him and Dean’s so close now, so close to being mindless and shameless and fuck but he loves his brother so much.

“Dean, first, there’s a few things you need to learn. Look at me!” The command makes Dean blink, but he looks up, knowing his face is still slick with sweat, still red. Sam’s is so cool, so chilled. But it’s not amusement in his face, not anything other than deep intent. “That hooker? She was nothing, synthetic. You want the real deal, you want more than just a quick whipping and a few stupid commands. I know. I know everything you want, Dean. Everything…”

And he leans forward, breath smelling of cherry coke, tongue-tip just licking his lips and then those lips are pressed to Dean’s and Dean can’t do anything but moan and open wide and want, just want, this. This more than anything, and his eyes are swimming, blurring so he closes them and kisses, just lets Sam kiss him and it’s all fine and right and he could sob but he won’t, not even when the kiss finally slips into the faintest touch of lips upon his, and Sam is moving away.

Sam smiles then, and stands. “Stay there, spread your thighs wide. Better. Did she tie you okay?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean feels Sam check the ropework.

“That’s good enough. I’ve some shopping to do, and when I come back, we’ll work this through together.”


End file.
